...But I stayed with Wildfire.An' I put a rope on him.An' he got away..
..An' it was a boy--no--a GIRL who--saved him for me--an' maybe saved my life, too!"Lucy looked away from the dark, staring eyes.A light in them confused her.
"Never mind me.You say you were weak? Have you been ill?""No, miss.just starved....I starved on Wildfire's trail."Lucy ran to her saddle and got the biscuits out of the pockets of her coat, and she ran back to the rider.
"Here.I never thought.Oh, you've had a hard time of it! I understand.That wonderful flame of a horse! I'd have stayed, too.My father was a rider once.
Bostil.Did you ever hear of him?"
"Bostil.The name--I've heard." Then the rider lay thinking, as he munched a biscuit."Yes, I remember, but it was long ago.I spent a night with a wagon-train, a camp of many men and women, religious people, working into Utah.Bostil had a boat at the crossing of the Fathers.""Yes, they called the Ferry that."
"I remember well now.They said Bostil couldn't count his horses-- that he was a rich man, hard on riders--an' he'd used a gun more than once."Lucy bowed her head."Yes, that's my dad."The rider did not seem to see how he had hurt her.
"Here we are talking--wasting time," she said."I must start home.You can't be moved.What shall I do?""That's for you to say, Bostil's daughter.""My name's Lucy," replied the girl, blushing painfully, "I mean I'll be glad to do anything you think best.""You're very good."
Then he turned his face away.Lucy looked closely at him.He was indeed a beggared rider.His clothes and his boots hung in tatters.He had no hat, no coat, no vest.His gaunt face bore traces of what might have been a fine, strong comeliness, but now it was only thin, worn, wan, pitiful, with that look which always went to a woman's heart.He had the look of a homeless rider.Lucy had seen a few of his wandering type, and his story was so plain.
But he seemed to have a touch of pride, and this quickened her interest.
"Then I'll do what I think best for you," said Lucy.
First she unsaddled the black Nagger.With the saddle she made a pillow for the rider's head, and she covered him with the saddle blanket.Before she had finished this task he turned his eyes upon her.And Lucy felt she would be haunted.Was he badly hurt, after all? It seemed probable.How strange he was!
"I'll water the horses--then tie Wildfire here on a double rope.There's grass.""But you can't lead him," replied the rider.
"He'll follow me."
"That red devil!" The rider shuddered as he spoke.
Lucy had some faint inkling of what a terrible fight that had been between man and horse."Yes; when I found him he was broken.Look at him now."But the rider did not appear to want to see the stallion.He gazed up at Lucy, and she saw something in his eyes that made her think of a child.She left him, had no trouble in watering the horses, and haltered Wildfire among the willows on a patch of grass.Then she returned.
"I'll go now," she said to the rider.
"Where?"
"Home.I'll come back to-morrow, early, and bring some one to help you--""Girl, if YOU want to help me more--bring me some bread an' meat.Don't tell any one.Look what a ragamuffin I am....An' there's Wildfire.I don't want him seen till I'm--on my feet again.I know riders....That's all.If you want to be so good--come.""I'll come," replied Lucy, simply.
"Thank you.I owe you--a lot....What did you say your name was?""Lucy--Lucy Bostil."
"Oh, I forgot....Are you sure you tied Wildfire good an' tight?""Yes, I'm sure.I'll go now.I hope you'll be better to-morrow."Lucy hesitated, with her hand on the King's bridle.She did not like to leave this young man lying there helpless on the desert.But what else could she do?
What a strange adventure had befallen her! At the following thought that it was not yet concluded she felt a little stir of excitement at her pulses.She was so strangely preoccupied that she forgot it was necessary for her to have a step to mount Sage King.She realized it quickly enough when she attempted it.Then she led him off in the sage till she found a rock.Mounting, she turned him straight across country, meaning to cut out miles of travel that would have been necessary along her back-trail.Once she looked back.The rider was not visible; the black horse, Nagger, was out of sight, but Wildfire, blazing in the sun, watched her depart.
